


Pancakes

by C_AND_B



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_AND_B/pseuds/C_AND_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awkward high school flirting and such. (OR - I just really love tropes and modern AU's.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes - it's late and I'm too obsessed with the new sneak peek.

Honestly you know almost nothing about soccer.

On the other hand, you know almost too much about Lexa Woods’ legs - which makes complete sense, when you take into account the only reason you ever pay attention to sports is when she’s playing, and you can use them as some sort of excuse to check her out without drawing suspicion.

But you can’t exactly be the only one. You know Octavia, for one, only comes for Raven (the fact that she actually learnt the rules doesn’t count). There’s usually also an odd amount of boys, who you have actively heard criticising girls soccer, that show up and they obviously haven’t shown up to appreciate the game play. So your creeping isn’t generally all that creepy because it’s like a group thing.

And, in your defence, she is really hot and you are entirely too afraid to hold an actual conversation with her because, yeah, you’re ‘popular’ but she looks like she’s been crafted by the gods and seeing her always makes you have those _I’m really gay_ moments. That is to say, that every time you so much as pass her in the hallway you do something really embarrassing like fall over, or walk into a tree because you’re too distracted her smirk, or that time you may have set yourself a little bit on fire whilst distracted during lab (although that was all on her for wearing ridiculously tight trousers and spending the entire hour bending in some way or another like she was trying to find the best angle for her ass. She found it).

You also never actually expected her to engage you.

The plan was always to sit on the bleachers with your sketchbook and pretend to be doing some kind of work - maybe throw some glances in every now and again. It normally worked perfectly, except apparently today you were the only one watching practice. You suspect the girls volleyball game had something to do with that but you couldn’t just leave now. You’d sat there for too long to just walk away, and if worst came to worst, as class president, you were just there to support your school.

Everything was fine.

“Sorry to interrupt your... sketching.” Everything was not fine. You turn your body towards the voice and sure enough find Lexa peering down at you. Replying with words would have been the dignified thing to do, but they lodge themselves in your throat as you watch a bead of sweat roll to an area you really need to look away from.

Eyes up, Griffin.

You nod for her to continue but don’t miss the seemingly knowing smirk on her face. You really hope mind reading isn’t a thing.

“We have an odd number today and I need a partner.” She pauses, almost imperceptibly turning her head to the girls on the pitch who seem to give her encouraging smiles, before turning back to you and seemingly remembering the pencil sat precariously between your fingers. “Unless you have important work. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She turns to leave and you’ve grabbed her wrist before you can think better of it. It’s not until she looks down with furrowed brows to your hand on her skin that you quickly pull back.

“You can intrude anytime.” She cocks a single brow. “Can we pretend I didn’t just say that?”

“Sure, Clarke.”

“You know my name?”

“Of course, we have four classes together; it’d be odd if I hadn’t noticed you.” She shifts uncertainly. “Unless you don’t know who I am, in which case - no I don’t know your name that was just a guess.” She sends you a crooked smile and you chuckle as you begin to put your sketchbook back into your bag.

“I know your name-“

“Lexa, stop flirting and get your ass back to practice! Harper’s finally here.” She shoots you a look that seems both apologetic and embarrassed. You can’t help but note how different it seems to the glare she usually maintains. You can’t help but note how it drags your own lips up into a smile.

“I’m not flirting!” She shouts back towards the field before addressing you again. “Maybe you can help next time?” She questions hopefully and you find yourself nodding along before it dissolves into laughter.

“I should probably stick to drawing, unless getting injured is your _thing_.”

“I guess you’ll have to find out.” A series of hollers come from the field and Lexa flips them the finger without removing her eyes from you. “I’ll see you around, Clarke.”

“See you, Lexa.” She smiles one last time before her mask falls back into place and she sprints back onto the field to shove her teammates.

You don’t bother getting your sketchbook back out again for the rest of the training session, and if she just so happens to catch your eye a few times, then so be it.

* * *

 

Your day couldn’t possibly get worse.

Although you had said that on multiple occasions, only to be proved wrong when something else inevitably fell apart.

It was all stupid things really, but they just kept building and building and you were tired of it. You were also just tired because you’d had like three hours of sleep to work with. Your car also wouldn’t start, and you’d sat next to Finn on the bus - which really would have been enough in itself to make you irritable. Then there was the surprise test in History that you don’t feel too bad about but really weren’t in the mood for, before lunch when some freshman dropped their entire bottle of juice onto your lap.

You’d had enough.

You’re pacing the hallway, debating skipping out on your last period, when you realise you really need to stop claiming the day can’t get worse, because someone seems to have decided that those particular words are an invitation for more crap, if the solid mass smacking into you is anything to go by.

Thankfully, your body is protected from smashing against the floor. Unthankfully, you’re only protected from smashing against the floor because of another body. A body that you’ve somehow ended up completely encapsulated by, unless you were just imagining the legs bracketing your hips, and hands catching your face before you ruined someone else’s day with a broken nose.

You risk opening your eyes to find out who you’ve apparently surprise attacked. You shut them again immediately in the hopes you’ll wake up from some terrible nightmare and find that none of the crap that had happened to you was real.

“Fuck me.” You groan when you open your eyes again and green orbs shine back at you with an unusual mirth.

"I'm not sure this is the place for dirty talk, Clarke." She smiles at you like you haven’t just totally crashed into her and probably crushed her lungs. She smiles like she somehow knows you’re having a terrible day and you actually feel better. But that’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.

"No, I didn't- I mean you are hot, but I. That's... not what I meant." She looks down and smirks despite the blush creeping up her neck.

"I'd probably be more inclined to believe you if your hands weren't still on my breasts." You look down. You’re groping her. You are actually groping her.

 _Move your hands, Griffin_.

"God, I'm so sorry. I can't seem to do anything right today." You jump up quickly and scramble to lift her up with you, which basically just results in you springing her up and into you. Sounds nice, right? Except by ‘into you’, you mean you headbutt her. You’re falling apart. She does nothing but take a singular step back with a small press of her hand to her head and you’re thankful.

"Oh, I don't know. Although, I'm sure this experience would have been far nicer if it weren't for your friends gawking at us from around the corner and the history text book digging into my back." You swivel to find Octavia and Raven running off in between fits of laughter.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." You quip, and she gives you another small smile before picking up your book and placing it in your arms.

"I look forward to it." She walks off with a simple wave and you’re beginning to think you’d suffer through a whole bunch of _worst days ever_ if only it meant she’d smile at you again.

* * *

 

 You’re not quite sure how you had managed to avoid conversations with Lexa for so long. At this point, she seems to be everywhere you look. But that could possibly have something to do with the fact that you’re actively looking for her now. You used to be intimidated by her whole ‘ _I-smirk-like-I-know-when-the-world-is-going-to-end_ ’ thing but you’re kind of craving it now.

You like to think she is too. After all, it’s the only reasonable explanation as to why she’s hanging out in the art room after school despite not even taking art (you’re maybe ignoring the fact that she had turned up with Lincoln to fit your own agenda).

“Hey, Griffin.”

“Lincoln.” You smile in between angrily rubbing at your sketch.

“Still stuck?” He asks softly and you mostly just groan in reply because you’ve been trying to get this right for days but you’ve lost it. You can’t work out where in the hell you actually wanted this thing to go.

“I feel like stuck is too light of a word.”

“If it makes you feel better, I completely lost the plot too. I started again last night when I realised I was just sketching an entirely too detailed burrito wearing a sombrero. After eating a lot of Taco Bell my idea finally came to me.” You laugh around your annoyance because you wish your problem were that easily fixed.

You wish delicious Mexican food was your problem instead of a growing infatuation for the girl staring at your sketchbook with curious eyes. You follow her gaze to the page. A page that you weren’t on a second ago. A page you definitely didn’t want her to see. A page that contained the only thing you’d actually somehow managed to draw in the past few days - an incredibly detailed portrait of Lexa.

Lincoln, perceptive as he is, takes only a few seconds to realise what you’ve both been distracted by. It takes even less time for him to pick up the book and hold it beside the subjects face. The whole thing is mortifying.

“This is amazing, just hand this in.”

“Oh, I don’t k-“

“It really is very good, Clarke.” Lexa cuts in and bashful would be the only word good enough to describe the smile that spreads across your face. You should probably explain yourself though. There must be some way for you to explain this that doesn’t sound completely stalkerish. Or you could just completely pretend that it isn’t a big thing and avoid a situation.

“Thank you.” The two of you stare long enough for Lincoln to clear his throat and for your friends to stumble through the door in a heap.

“We’re going out to eat Griffin, hurry up!” You’re not quite sure what compels you to actually pack your things up without question - probably the voice in your head that tells you it would be stupid to ignore Octavia when she has her mind set on something (or the fact that she actually physically tugs you from the room).

“Bye.” You call through the door as you disappear. It’s the smile on Lexa’s face when you throw her a small wave that gets you through the next two hours of Raven and Octavia making heart eyes at each other but doing nothing about it.

They were so frustrating.

* * *

She’s hurt.

You watch her run around like nothing happened but you can see that she’s hurt. You’ve been watching her for far too long not to realise the new edge to her demeanour, or the clench of her jaw when she shifts too quickly. You don’t even have to look too closely to realise she’s passing more than she usually would. She’s playing it safe.

Lexa Woods is the most stubborn girl you’ve ever met and you know for a fact that she’s hurt - which makes complete sense when you take into account the tackle that took place five minutes beforehand. You couldn’t quite make out exactly what happened but you watched the Azgeda captain’s studs scrape into Lexa’s abdomen and you definitely saw her sneakily wipe away the trail of blood trickling down her side as she assured you she didn’t need first aid.

You’d let her back onto the pitch the moment she assured you she would come see you to check it out when the game had finished. You don’t know why you agreed. Watching her pretend she was fine was killing you, and you know she couldn’t have gone against your word if you pulled her from the game (apparently being the official first aider gave you an odd amount of power - which honestly you’re still not sure how you were roped in to), but for some reason you let her play. Obviously that reason was the distress you saw in her eye at the concept of leaving her team, also an inordinate amount of anger.

You were maybe slightly too hopeful that she’d get her revenge on the Azgeda bitch.

By the time the game ends and the team try to lift Lexa onto their shoulders in a victory march you’re practically shoving students over to get them out of your way. Somehow you manage to catch her before she’s swept up into the madness. The sheepish smile she sends your way stops you from doing much else but roll your eyes and gesture for her to follow you quickly.

She jumps up onto the examination table with a grin that you think is supposed to be charming.

 It is.

It’s so incredibly charming and you’re trying to be mad but the sight of a full blown smile on her face makes your pulse race. _She_ makes your pulse race and it’s bewitching. You used to pass the whole thing off as a crush, an infatuation if you will, because she was just this beautiful unattainable thing and now she was a beautiful maybe attainable thing and she made your heart pound.

“Take your shirt off.”

"Buy me dinner first, Griffin.” She quips but starts to take her shirt off anyway, well, attempts to. You revel in her struggle for a few seconds because she deserves this. It’s only fair that she has a little trouble for the worry she put you through.

"You can't, can you?" You’re maybe enjoying it more than you should.

"Shut up."

"Here let me." She freezes at first when you step into her space. She tenses even further when you wrap your fingers around dainty wrists and gently lift her arms above her head. She visibly relaxes when you catch her eye and run your hands softly under the hem of her shirt before removing it at the sight of her subtle nod. It’s your turn to tense when you catch sight of the amount of blood on her side. You hold your breath the entire time you’re cleaning up the liquid.

“I told you it was fine.” She catches your fingers as they run along the shallow scratches. You hadn’t realised you were even doing it.

“I’m still disinfecting it.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Part of me hopes this hurts.” You mumble. She merely laughs in response and you watch it reverberate through her abdomen. It’s the first time you’ve been clear headed enough to note that she’s actually shirtless. Lexa Woods has no top on. You can see Lexa Woods’ half naked body and it is amazing. This was doing nothing to calm the anarchy in your heart.

Focus.

“You’re all done.” You pat the bandage for good measure and laugh when she slaps your hand away.

“Do you have a spare shirt? All my stuff is in my car and I don’t really fancy giving people a show.”

“Just me then?” You’re slipping your jacket off before you can dwell on that fact that you actually just said that out loud. She slips it on gratefully before zipping it up and slipping off the table. You’ll admit that there is something indelibly hot about seeing her in your clothes. There’s also something adorable in the way she burrows into its warmth and tugs at her hair until the curls hang free around her face.

“Thank you, Clarke.” You don’t expect the kiss on your cheek. You don’t expect the shy smile that follows it, or the tender run of her fingers down your arm as she walks away. You don’t expect the look she throws over her shoulder, almost like she’s weighing up the pros and cons of walking right back to your side.

You have, however, come to expect the ceaseless hammering of your pulse when she sends you one last smile and disappears into the night.

* * *

 

Your car is getting fixed. On the one hand your car was finally being fixed. On the other hand, your car was being fixed, and your mother assured you that she would pick you up from school so you purposely missed the last bus. She was not here. It was raining (more like a deluge) and you had kind of decided at this point that it was too late to go back inside.

This was your day now – your freezing, totally uncomfortable, ‘ _I wore a white shirt and no jacket today’_ day.

Life was great.

“Are you trying to catch a cold, Clarke?” She’s standing under the protection of an umbrella when you turn around. Fumbling hands struggle to keep a solid grasp on its handle as her eyes slip away from your face and take in your appearance. Her eyes flicker back up after a minute and you want to smirk, you would definitely be smirking if it weren’t for the shake in your bones.

She staggers forward with a softening smile as she pulls you into her without a second thought. You know she has to be soaked already but you have no qualms with nestling into her warmth, revelling in the tumultuous tremble of her fingertips as they run across your frozen skin.

She doesn’t try to speak again until your both firmly in the car and she’s cranked the heating as high as it will go, still incessantly running her hands down your side like a worrying mother. It’s in the moment that she opens her mouth that you realise what she’s wearing - the item that stands out obviously in comparison to the rest of her outfit.

“Cl-“

“You’re wearing my jacket.” She looks down like she’s forgotten that she was wearing it. Then she blushes and tugs at the zip nervously. “It looks good on you.” You say. What you don’t say is that seeing your name scrawled across her chest makes you feel warm inside, like it’s an admission that this is something more than the crossing paths of two girls.

“I have a blanket.” She says in lieu of a response as she reaches into the back and emerges victorious, wrapping it firmly around your shoulders. “Can I ask why you were standing in the rain, in nothing but a t-shirt?”

“Long story short - my car is getting fixed. I was assured I’d be picked up. I was not picked up.”

“And the no jacket, white shirt thing?” She prompts, swallowing thickly when she realises she’s let her eyes wander again.

“I just thought I’d treat you for last night, a little _quid pro quo_.” You wink and she rolls her eyes despite the smile on her lips as she turns her attention to getting the two of you out of the parking lot. “Honestly, it was just sunny when I left this morning.”

“So you were unprepared.”

“Optimistic.” Her hum is the epitome of sarcasm but she catches the hand you use to slap her leg good naturedly with nimble fingers. She catches your breath right along with it when she swipes her thumb across your wrist and attempts to pull her hand away.

You hold her hand the whole way to your house.

“How do you know where I live?”

“It was on the party invitation I received in my locker this morning.” She says confidently.

“And you just casually memorised it?”

“I have a very good memory.” It’s your turn to hum now but she merely stares down at your joined hands. You can’t help but wonder if she hadn’t realised your hand was still in hers. If, like you, it seemed natural to have your fingers intertwined. If the caress of her thumb was just a reflex, the natural result of the two of you coming together.

You wonder if she’s truly thought about moving her free hand to unbuckle her seatbelt. You wonder if she consciously decided to slip her hand up the nape of your neck to rest delicately in your tangled tresses. You wonder if she can sense the frenzy she sets off in your brain when she sets her lips an inch away from your own, if she too can feel electricity buzzing through your veins when her thumb brushes your chin, if she too can feel herself crumbling with each new breath you take in tandem.

You wonder.

You wonder if she’ll ever just kiss you.

“Clarke!” A knock on your window has you snapping out of your reverie and slipping out of the car in a mess of limbs and mumbled profanities. If you hadn’t of slightly hated your mother for leaving you out in the rain, this was definitely sealing the deal. “Who’s this?”

“Lexa.” The two of you reply in time and you can feel the smile spread across your face as you catch her eye. She replies in kind though fear settles in her eyes – whether from what almost happened or the knowing look on your mothers face, you can’t quite tell.

“Lexa Woods, the one you have a cr-“

“Nope. We’re not doing that; I’ll be inside in a minute.” She laughs but complies nonetheless.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Her soft smile brings you back to the almost kiss and you want to say something. You also kind of want to punch your mother but that could wait.

“Of course not. I better get going but I’ll see you tomorrow, Clarke.” She drives off still wearing your jacket, still holding your heart in the palm of her hand.

* * *

 

You don’t actually expect her to come to your party. She’s gone to parties before, but mostly just because Lincoln drags her along, and her incredible skill of disappearing into the crowd without a fuss whenever she seems to have had enough.

You once watched her leave within twenty minutes. No one else noticed and you’ll admit that you were incredibly impressed. The last time you’d tried to escape a party you’d been caught and challenged to beer pong - which essentially meant you played beer pong for the next three hours as boy upon boy had their fragile male ego crushed by your superior skills. You may have sucked at all school sports, but drinking games, those you excelled at.

But this was an hour into your party and she was actually here. She was still here. There’s something odd about seeing her at a party with a smile on her face and a drink in her hand. There’s something even odder about the churning in your stomach as some girl leans into her side with, what you suppose, is a flirtatious grin.

You shouldn’t be jealous.

You have no right to be jealous.

You’re jealous.

“Hey, Lex.” She spins fast enough to give herself vertigo and you almost let out the laugh that teeters dangerously on the tip of your tongue when her admirer stumbles into the sofa behind the two of them.

“Clarke, hey.”

“Hey.” She laughs.

“You already said that.”

“You... are not wrong.” You’re thinking of the best way to approach this whole thing when you the two of you are interrupted, because you apparently can’t have any interaction with Lexa without someone else butting in and doing something awkward (read: your mother almost disclosing the whole crush thing, as though she probably hadn’t already figured that out).

“BODY SHOTS!” You’ll admit you weren’t entirely expecting that one. Although realising its Raven and Octavia clearing your kitchen counter amongst the hoards of hollering teenagers, you think you probably should have been expecting it since the moment the party started. You also probably should’ve expected the way they would grab you and declare as host that you would be the first to go.

Everything is so clear in hindsight.

“Any volunteers?” You throw a wink to the numerous hands shooting up and laugh at the way the crowd shuffles forward. It’s definitely a confidence booster, though not as much as Lexa emerging from the group, and reaching her hand silently towards Raven until she hands over the tequila bottle with an amused grin. “Sorry guys, looks like we have a winner.”

“You ready?” She questions with a cocked brow and a smirk. Your reply mainly consists of a scoff and the removal of your shirt. In your opinion, it’s a pretty good response. The counter sparks goosebumps across your skin but you don’t flinch. You won’t be the one to flinch.

That is definitely easier said than done as she hops onto the counter and settles on your lap. Laboured breaths expel from your lungs as her gaze pours over every inch of your skin the same way you eye a bare canvas.

Her hands never touch your body as she trickles the salt along your abdomen and accepts the shot to place between your breasts. You can taste the pads of her fingers as she slides the lime into your mouth and shifts her perch to your thighs.

“Come on, ladies.” Is shouted from the crowd and you would respond if there were any movement left in your tongue to form words, if there were any will left in you that wasn’t working on trying to keep yourself steady as she trailed her tongue up your abdomen with an unfailing gaze. As it is, you don’t think you remember what life was like without her hands resting on your stomach or her mouth closing around the shot glass with a piercing stare.

You’ve already crumbled when her lips ghost yours.

You think you may never recover when her tongue dips into your mouth to collect the lime.

You know you’re screwed when she hops off with a smirk and holds your shirt back out to you. You’re almost thankful for the cheering crowd that surrounds you for once as the chants drown out the thundering in your chest.

“Can we talk?” She nods quickly. You grab her hand and hastily pull her upstairs towards your bedroom. You don’t stop to consider the curious gazes of your classmates as you disappear. You can’t even begin to comprehend the fire you’ve set at the rumour mill because, lord knows, the only fire you can feel is curling in the pit of your stomach.

“I like you. I feel like I should start with that because you’re driving me insane, and we keep having these almost moments, so I just need to clarify that I actually do like you before I do what I’m about to do.”

“Clarke, I-“ You rush into her because you’re tired of waiting, you’re tired of interruptions, you’re tired of the nagging voice of fear at the back of your mind. Kissing her isn’t explosive despite the need in your touch, or the pleading of your tongue. Kissing her reminds you of space – it’s endless and intoxicating. You feel weightless and grounded as your head pounds with each new breath she steals prematurely from your lungs.

She pulls her lips away, gasping for air and yours fall to the exposed skin of her neck. You bask in the tremble of her jugular against your lips; revel in the tug of her hands at your hips before she’s stumbling out of your grasp.

“I want to take you on a date.” She stutters.

“Now?”

“If you’re going to keep kissing me like that then yes. My father raised me to be respectful.” You smirk.

“What about respecting my need to have your hands on my-“

“Clarke.” She interrupts abruptly. You raise your hands in surrender but you’re grinning nonetheless because she looks beautiful. So ridiculously beautiful with her braids half undone and her lipstick slightly off kilter. “Stop looking all hot and dishevelled when I’m trying to be chivalrous.” She says and God, you want to kiss her again.

“There’s a diner just down the road, we could have pancakes?” You offer.

“What about them?” She nods her head in the general direction of the world outside your room. You’d almost forgotten about the party downstairs as you allow the cheering and clapping to filter back into your Lexa-hazed brain. You imagine they’ve decided a keg stand is the best way to pass the time if the chants are anything to go by.

“They’re all too scared of Raven to do anything too stupid.”

“You’re probably right.” She pauses as she grabs hold of the door handle. White knuckles greet you as you look down and her back remains unturned as she speaks again. “I like you too, by the way. In case that wasn’t blatantly obvious by this point.”

“Don’t worry; I worked it out somewhere between you cutely trying to get me to play soccer with you and you excitedly offering to lick salt off my body.” She shoves you through the doorway.

“You have no right to judge Little Miss I-Spent-Hours-Sketching-Your-Likeness.”

“Touché.”

“Hurry up. I can’t stop thinking about _pancakes_ and my patience is wavering.” Honestly you know almost nothing about soccer. You actually really hate most kinds of exercise but you’ve never ran faster in your life than in that moment.

It’s totally worth it.

You think you might love _pancakes_.


End file.
